The Braiding
by Whilom
Summary: The Braiding: A ritual between Jedi to symbolize and strengthen the master's bond to his apprentice. And a grieving ObiWan must perform it on Anakin the night before the peace celebration. He had thought his trials were over. He was wrong. Cmpn: My Trials


**A/N:** Companion piece to "My Trials".

* * *

I sighed and took the comb and colored bands into my hand. I could not remain there, in that room, alone, as I wished and not fulfill my promise to my master, to the boy. My Padawan. The revelation that I was a Jedi Knight had not settled in completely and the fact that Anakin Skywalker looked to me as his master for everything from food to instruction was like a dream—or a nightmare. And now I had to perform one of the acts that most strengthened the bond between Padawan and Master: the Braiding. A symbolic ritual, it meant the master combed out his apprentice's hair, cut it in the standard Jedi style, and left a strand below the right ear to be braided. It showed the master's care for his apprentice, the Padawan's status in the Jedi Order, and even just the touch was typically soothing, something that spoke volumes about the master's bond with his apprentice. 

And I had to perform it on Anakin.

I clenched my fist around the comb and the bands so that my hand would not tremble, and went out of my bedroom into the sitting room where the boy was sitting on the floor. Once he saw me coming, he stood and tipped his head a little in respect, as he had been taught. Then he looked at me with expectancy and I was taken back to a time when I had stood before Qui-Gon like this, waiting for him to perform the braiding on me. I had helped him, saved his life, and he had taken me as his Padawan learner. Yet I still had doubted that his heart was complete and that he was truly ready for another learner, much less for me. He had seen me before, noticed me sparring with one of my classmates. I've been told that he thought me dangerous, too dangerous to teach. Yet by the will of the Force he had taught me anyway.

And here was I. My heart incomplete, not ready to teach my own Padawan—one who I had thought was dangerous—and by the will of the Force I would teach him anyway.

"Anakin, this is—" I folded my lips, wondering how Qui-Gon had explained this to me, the importance of it. I remembered standing, I remembered Qui-Gon's hands sifting through my hair with detached efficiency, I remembered my nervous anxiety and my intense desire to please and my confusion at not knowing what would please. And I remembered the silence. Oh, that silence had pounded in my ears with my heartbeat that day, because Qui-Gon had said nothing at all. His eyes had been like ice and though his hands had been hesitant at first, he soon worked quickly as one familiar with the daily procedure, but with no emotion involved.

Qui-Gon had not wanted me then. And I did not want my Padawan now.

I positioned Anakin's head and told him to stay still, then I began cutting his hair, a clumsy task for me although I had been told many times by Qui-Gon how it was done, in case there was ever a time when I needed it shorter and he was not there to cut it for me. And then the braid. I wove the three strands into one, silently repeating their symbolism although not sharing the knowledge aloud, and finished the end with a band.

With his Jedi clothes and haircut, Anakin looked like the Padawan the council said he was. He tipped his head again and ran his hands through his short hair with childish surprise. I turned and went back to my room, shutting the door behind me, breathing hard.

Safe. I was safe. But from what? I threw the scissors on a side table and paced the room angrily, ripping off my outer robe and wishing I could strip myself of all signs of the Jedi and just run until I was breathless. But I _had_ been stripped—of my sign as a Padawan—and I found I missed my braid more than I cared to admit. It had been my last connection to Qui-Gon, save that I now was in his place. And as Qui-Gon had, I avoided my apprentice. No, I hadn't forgotten the hurt from his silent rejection every time he saw me, or the way I had become so lonely that I worked through the Force to fill a room with my Force presence. But I had such an intense desire to be near Qui-Gon and he was gone and would never return to me and wasn't it right that I should want to be like him in everything? I clenched my head in my hands, feeling again the absence of that familiar braid, and groaned, knowing that my Padawan could hear me and hating that he was there.

Even now I could not do as I wished, become closer to Qui-Gon through his actions.

Why was I the one the Force was testing? I wanted to scream that my trials were over, my master dead and my lightsaber gone because of my trials! Hadn't I suffered enough? And then there was this boy! This boy that I promised to take and train and now I wanted most to reject him as I was rejected because that's what Qui-Gon did although it was a mistake and even that I could not do! I pounded something to the floor, I don't remember, and then I grabbed a lamp and threw that and I do remember because it broke. And I sat on the floor among the dangerous shards and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. Would my trials ever end? Would every day be like this, this intense battle inside me between what I wanted to do and what I should do and my reasons for doing both? Would it ever get better?

I doubted that it would. The next day was the celebration of peace where the queen would give a globe symbolizing harmony to the Gungan leader. I was to attend. Anakin was to attend as well, as my Padawan learner, going everywhere that I went. I must not reveal anything that was inside me. I must be stoic at worst, pleased at best. There was peace. It was a celebration.

But I had no peace and I could not celebrate when anger pushed me to terrible actions that would lead, undoubtedly, to the Dark Side. The thing that kept me from following those actions was the memory of the Sith that I killed and who had killed my master. I would not be like him. And so to become a Sith was impossible for me. But the dangerous line I walked was that I could be a renegade, neither Sith nor Jedi, trained as the latter but with the anger of the former and with no living ties to hold me back. Anakin would be taken by another master, one who would be pleased to train the Chosen One. I, for one, wanted nothing to do with him. I could see he viewed me reverently, almost, like a father, almost, but for the fact that he had never known a father. But then, neither had I. Until Qui-Gon had been one to me. But Qui-Gon had rejected me at first.

I knew what I had to do. But why must I choose only the good in my master to emulate and not take on his whole identity as my own? Why must I keep on living when it felt like I was dead but for the memories of my master when he was the one who had died? Why were things like this and, Force, why was it so hard to _choose_?

I woke the next morning, my face and hands cut from the lamp's shards. I opened my door and saw that Anakin was dressed and waiting for me. His eyes widened when he saw the blood on me but he asked no questions and I was thankful. In that moment, he reminded me of myself. I went to him and I knelt in front of him and ran my hand down the short length of his braid. Then I rose and kissed the top of his head and said quietly, "You are Anakin Skywalker, Padawan of Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. Don't forget." Then I turned to ready for the celebration.

The words had been for me. The actions had been for Qui-Gon, the actions he hadn't done when my hair was cut and braided for the first time. And the kiss? That had been for all of us, Anakin, Qui-Gon, and me. Because I was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn, Master of Anakin Skywalker. And I was hurt. And I was broken. But I could heal. And I would. Trials are meant to be overcome.


End file.
